Tales from Oracle Securities
by Alkeni
Summary: Stand alone and interconnected short stories in the 'New City, Same Enemy' Universe. In the aftermath of Diocletian, Baron Zaragoza, and Gregory of Arles, what else do Wesley and the Oracle Securities team have to face? focuses primarily on Oracle Securities and the people there, but includes Dresdenverse characters as well, plus other Buffy/Angelverse characters.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I still do not own The Dresden Files or Angel the Series or Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

**Author's Note:** 'Tales from Oracle Securities' is a collection of stand-alone and interconnected short-stories set in the same universe as my earlier Dresden-Files/Buffy&Angel-verse fic 'New City, Same Enemy'. The short stories in this fic will mostly take place after 'New City, Same Enemy', though a handful might take place earlier, during or before the fic to explore some back-story to the various Original Characters I created or other perspectives on the events of the first fic.

That all said, while it is possible to read 'Tales from Oracle Securities' without having read 'New City, Same Enemy', I do not recommend it. It would be less confusing, and, in my opinion, more enjoyable, for the reader if they read 'New City, Same Enemy' first.

Additionally, I'm looking for a beta for this fic. If anyone is interested, please contact me, either in a review or through a message outside of the review process.

Tales from Oracle Securities

By Alkeni

Chapter 1: The Evaluation

**Nondescript Office Building, Marcone's Office**

**12:03 pm, June 20th, 2003**

"I will admit that I never expected Oracle Securities to be a profit-generating institution, so much as a profit-protecting one." Marcone conceded, looking over his desk at the man seated on the other side of it. "But I did not expect the cost-overruns of the whole project to be as high as they have been. I was looking forward to cutting down on the amount of money I spent on Oracle Securities now that things are finally starting to calm down in the supernatural world of Chicago. And you're telling me that not only do you want me to _not_ cut back on the costs, but to let you expand Oracle Securities' operations beyond Chicago, and beyond dealing with Wolfram and Hart and the collateral problems it seems to spawn merely by existing?" Marcone raised one eyebrow – just for a moment – then let it fall. "Convince me. Convince me its worth the cost."

For all his criminal kingpin nature, "Gentleman" Johnny Marcone – Baron Marcone, in supernatural parlance – fancied himself something of a businessman, and in many ways, acted and thought like one, albeit one whose business was primarily on the wrong-side of the law. Wesley pondered the best way to put it for a moment, then spoke.

"At the end of the day, there will always be a disagreement between us, Mr. Marcone." Wesley said. "You are a businessman, and you approach Oracle Securities from a question of cost-effectiveness. How much money does it cost you to protect your other enterprises from Wolfram and Hart's efforts to interfere with or acquire them, to protect your ability to expand your many...business ventures into new areas, and for that matter, the ability Oracle Securities gives you to infiltrate or acquire those ventures of Wolfram and Hart. How much you spend, versus how much you gain or protect. An inherently logical approach for one in your position." _If a little short-sighted, given the full reality of the situation... _"Myself, on the other hand, for all my many flaws and vices, am not in this fight as a businessman. I am in this because I oppose the forces of darkness that prey on or otherwise seek to corrupt or use humanity, and I approach Oracle Securities from the perspective of how best to use that entity for those purposes."

"You haven't exactly answered the question, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were attempting to stall for time with a monologue." His tone was cool.

"That is exactly what I was intending, Mr. Marcone." Wesley admitted just as cooly. As much as he essentially worked for Marcone, and for that matter, respected the criminal kingpin, Wesley did not like him. Nor did he really suspect that Marcone liked him either – though Wesley got the impression Marcone liked very few people to begin with, if anyone at all. "But it is entirely true. And here is something else that is true. Oracle Securities' chief power is in its threat, not in its application. Wolfram and Hart has no interest in getting involved in pitched conflict with anyone at the moment, but they will seize any opportunity they see as quick and easy, especially in a theater like Chicago. As long as Oracle Securities looms as a potential threat to Wolfram and Hart, they will have to figure it into their strategic calculus."

"But, the issue is," Wesley continued, "that there is a finite limit to just how far you can cut back on Oracle Securities before it stops being a credible threat to Wolfram and Hart and its interests, and thus loses all value as a deterrent. That is a given. But," he added, "you don't need to keep all of Oracle Securities' assets tied up in and around Chicago all the time to maintain the overall threat and deterrent. And if you're going to maintain a large enough force to serve as that threat and deterrent, you may as well use them, rather than just have them stand around doing nothing. First of all, its good practice for them, second of all, its make you look good in the supernatural world, and third of all, it serves as an example to Wolfram and Hart as to just how good Oracle Securities is."

"Besides." Wesley noted. "You can still save money on the whole exchange now that things have calmed down in Chicago. I'm certainly both willing and able to take a substantial pay cut personally – my late father's estate is more than enough to provide for my needs, financially." He paused "That reminds me. I need to fly over to England soon to sort some things out with the lawyers." He shook his head, bringing things back around to the point at hand. "Anyway, you could also cut down on our equipment budget. Although it might annoy Baldwin, the fact of the matter is, given the newly calm state of things, we are amply supplied with equipment – ammunition, grenades, guns, et cetera – and only need to cover standard replacement and the like. Massive armament isn't on the agenda anymore, For now. So you, could easily cut the equipment budget by..." He made some quick mental calculations . "57% without unduly undermining the threat potential that Oracle Securities poses, for the time being."

Marcone considered Wesley's words for several minutes, probably making mental calculations of his own, weighing costs and benefits... "I'll let you expand operations up to within 100 miles of the city limits. Any further than that, and you'll need to get authorization from me. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." Wesley replied blithely.

"And now that that is out of the way, let's talk about Lilah?"

"What about her?" Wesley asked, unfazed.

"You're sleeping with her." Marcone said pointedly.

"I am." Wesley answered. "What of it? So I'm sleeping with the Director of Special Projects at Wolfram and Hart Chicago."

"Actually, she's the CEO now. She just got promoted when the CEO here was sent off to the newly rebuilt L.A. branch."

Wesley chuckled. "Good for her. And I don't envy whoever they put in charge in L.A. Since they'll have to work with Angel." Then he got to the issue at hand. "I may be sleeping with Lilah, but beyond some vague sense of affection – which wouldn't stop either of us from killing the other, if it came to that – that is all that it is. Sex. _Really good _sex, but just sex nonetheless. I'm not likely to betray you. You have my hair and blood, and a Valkyrie with which to punish me for any infraction, if you wished to."

With that, Wesley stood. "I believe that concludes our business today."

"More or less." Marcone replied.

"Good." Wesley walked out.

**Author's Note:** Okay, so, as I said, Tales from Oracle Securities is a collection of stand-alone and

interconnected short stories set in the New City, Same Enemy universe. I have specific stories in mind for this collection, but I also want to see what you guys want. I have created a number of OCs for NCSE – Abigail St. Pierre, Mark Farrel, Petrovich, Gregory of Arles, Denna Frost, Richard Carlise and Diocletian, to name some of the more important ones. Each one, of course, is a complex character with their own backstory, motives, etc. So, if you want to see more of one of them, then tell me. I'll write a chapter/story for them. If you want to see more of certain Dresdenverse, or Buffyverse characters in this new universe – such as Karrin Murphy, or see how Buffy and the new Slayer Organization handles this brave new world with three vampire courts, Wardens and the Unseelie Accords – then tell me. I'll write something. I may not always write what/who you request (either because I have specific plans for those characters I don't want to spoil, or because I just can't think of a way to write them, or whatever), but only way you find out is by asking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Dresden Files, Angel the Series, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If you recognize it, it isn't mine. If you don't recognize it, it is mine.

Tales from Oracle Securities

By Alkeni

Chapter 2a: New Arrivals

**Wesley's Office, Oracle Securities**

**11:45 am, June 22nd, 2003**

"Now, with any luck, my stay in England will be a short one. Sort out paperwork, divest myself of unwanted assets, set the family estate up for sale – that sort of thing. But once lawyers get involved, nothing goes to plan. As we all well know." Wesley sat back down at his desk and steepled his fingers for a moment, then, rested them on the desk. "Alright, let's go over the rules for while I'm gone." He looked over at his section heads: Mark, Lindsey and Abigail.

"Rule number one: Don't start any wars while I'm gone. If Marcone is going to bite my head off for getting him entangled in a war, I'd much rather it be when I'm actually guilty of starting a war. Are we clear? No one pulls a Harry Dresden and burns an entire building down, thereby starting a war."

Lindsey looked half-bored, Mark had rolled his eyes, and Abigail was tossing a wooden stake from hand to hand. He'd gone over these before. Wesley sighed. "Fine, I'll spare you the rest. But for the love of the gods, keep Spike under control."

"I used to have a little bit of a rapport with him." Abigail said. "Then you had me lie to him. Wasn't there some other way you could have gotten him to help with Diocletian? And for that matter why _didn't_ you contact this Buffy, if you're not going to just make him corporeal yourself, or have someone else do it. I mean, aren't we the good guys? Good guys don't go holding other good guys prisoner!"

Wesley facepalmed. Even Lindsey had had a few qualms, though more about the fact that he _hadn't_ had qualms, rather than the situation itself. Mark was still of the opinion that 'vampire with a soul is still a vampire'. Which was an opinion Wesley could understand – especially these days – even if he didn't quite agree with it. So Mark had no problems with keeping Spike as a ghost.

Wesley made his facepalm look like he had just been rubbing his forehead. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Because, Abigail, we're actually doing good by keeping him insubstantial and stuck here in Chicago _is_ a good thing. It advances the cause of good. The first thing Spike would do if he became corporeal is go to Cleveland to get back together with his lady love. Buffy Summers, who is now the leader of the what has to be at least a thousand Slayers across the world. In theory." He still hoped Oracle Securities could get a few into their employ. Or, barring that, that Marcone could get one or two, and might loan them to the company when needed. "And the last thing this world needs is Buffy providing an example to the new Slayers that fucking a vampire is a good thing. Bad example, to say the least."

And, Wesley had to admit to himself, it was as much the fact that he resented Buffy Summers, still, for getting him fired from the Council. Part of him, anyway. Granted, he'd quite quickly realized the myriad and sundry flaws of the Council, but still...she had broken away from the Council because they had made the very obvious and rational choice _not_ to help her save her undead boyfriend from the Mayor's poison, and Wesley had gotten fired for that failure compounded with his loss of Faith to evil as well.

Granted, Wesley would go on to become friends with Angel – for a while – and see him as a valuable aid to the forces of good, but still...he sighed mentally. Rationality wasn't entering into this entirely. He didn't like Miss Summers, and this was as much to spite her as anything else.

"So. Are we clear? Keep Spike on a leash." He turned to Lindsey. "Do you know any spells to put him back in to the Amulet?"

Lindsey shook his head. "I have no idea. I could take a look, see if I can figure anything out." _In my copious amounts of free time_. The cooling off of open conflict had led to a stepping up on the legal front by Wolfram and Hart, including more resources invested into brainwashing jury members and witnesses. Which meant more work for him and his legal team to win cases quickly, identify – and arrange for the deprogramming of – the brainwashing witnesses and jurors... it was a mess, all around.

"Do it." Wesley ordered, unaware of Lindsey's thoughts.

Lindsey nodded. No point raising the 'I have no time' argument with Wesley. The man didn't seem to sleep sometime. Which, given his...seeming half-sanity at times, was probably true, in the abstract.

"Good." Wesley looked at the time. "And now I need to leave if I intend to catch my flight." He grabbed the only bag – he only had two in total – that wasn't in his car and headed to the elevator, then down the stairs.

**Slayer Headquarters, Cleveland**

**2:31 pm, June 22nd, 2003**

"Red said you wanted to talk to me?" Faith asked, entering the training room where Buffy was, turning a training dummy into splinters with kicks and punches – and not even using all of her strength, for that matter. According to Giles, training equipment would be a huge expenditure for them. Because 'Slayers redefine 'wear and tear' when it comes to training equipment, it would seem'.

Buffy completed a complex series of punches as Faith entered, then stopped pulling away from the dummy, taking a quick drink of water. "Yea. I wanted to talk to you about Chicago."

"Wesley's town? I'm still not sure if he'll shot me on sight if he sees me again. Guy seemed pretty close to insane last time I talked to him." Then she smiled at the look on Buffy's face. "Pot, kettle, black, I know." A year ago, Faith wouldn't have gotten that phrase at all. Amazing what a person could pick up sometimes.

"I'm not saying you should go to Chicago, though since Giles wants me on site in Europe to get some things set up on England and Rome, you're kind of in charge while we're gone anyway."

"And there's a scary thought for you." Faith said.

"I'm sure we'll live." Buffy smiled slightly. They had come a long way since the whole 'stole my body' episode', but they still had issues too. Mostly those had been a little papered over, but it was enough to function for now.

She shook her head. "Anyway, what I wanted to talk about was more about Wesley and this group he's running. How good are they, are they on the level, that sort of thing. From what you told me, they seem like the Initiative. That worries me."

Faith shook her head. "I wouldn't say they're like the Initiative." Then she shrugged. "I mean, granted, I never actually saw it in action, but from what you said, they were about experimenting on demons and things like that, capturing them, more than just killing them. Wesley wasn't at all interested in capture or experiments when we went down into Undertown and killed all those vamps." Then she smiled. "Well, I killed most of them and Wesley and his guys helped." No one could ever accuse Faith of being modest, in any sense of the word. "Still." She added, "I think they're on the level. They're trying to kill bad things. Gives them points in my book. Less vampires and demons out there, killing people, the better. The only thing Initiative about them is that they use guns and a lot of the guys are ex-military."

Buffy frowned. "I don't like guns." She said firmly. "Its not what slaying is about. And they don't work."

"B, I hate to break it to you, but guns really do. Not against everything, sure, but I saw first hand guns working against those vamps, and Wes was right. Most things, you shoot them enough times and they're still dead. We could use some here too – kill the demons before they get to us in a fight, and that's less casualties. Especially since we have so damn many baby Slayers now." She saw the look on Buffy's face at that suggestion, and decided to change topic a little. She wasn't in the mood to have that conversation right now – or maybe ever. At the end of the day, she didn't feel _that_ strongly about using guns. "Anyway, that doesn't really matter either. Because Wes and his people aren't Slayers. They're normal people. So they're going to use what works, rather than their superpowers, which, like I said, they don't have."

"Normal people without powers of some kind don't have any demons going out and taking the fight to vampires and demons like that." Buffy replied.

Faith did a double take at that."How long has Xander been helping you? Fighting the good fight. He lost his eye fighting on your side, and hell, he saved my life once. I thought you gave up on trying to get him to leave the fight. He's not going to do it, you know."

"Xander shouldn't be fighting. Shouldn't have been fighting." Buffy said in response. "He does not belong in the fight. He's normal. He shouldn't have been there to get his eye poked out by Caleb in the first place."

"And yet you're not stopping him from going off to Africa to find Slayers, and knowing him, fight demons and vampires."

"Because I can't stop him short of knocking him out and tying him up." Then she said, more softly. "Since Anya died..." She shook her head. "I can't do that to him. It still doesn't mean he _should_ be going there."

Faith just shook her head.

Buffy didn't respond to that motion. Instead, she changed the subject. "Back to this outfit Wesley is running. Or, more accurately, what it is they fight. About these 'Red Court Vampires'."

"What about them?" Faith asked. "They're just another kind of vampire. Well, really, they're more like demons than real vampires, but that's not really the point. Hack and slash and they're dead."

"They're a lot more organized than real vampires too. They control a lot of territory in ways real ones couldn't either. I mean, from what Giles said, they control most of the third world." _Including Africa...I've __**got**__ to try to convince Xander to not go there..._ "I don't think these Red Court Vampires deserve to keep getting the free ride they've been getting from Slayers for so long. There are hundreds of us now. We should do something about them."

"B, we're just getting started finding and training all the baby slayers." Faith pointed out. "I can't believe I'm the voice of reason here, but from what I remember of what Giles said, and what Wes said, and what I saw while I was in Chicago, these Red Court are a lot better a fighting in groups than vampires. A little weaker yea, but there's a lot of them, and you don't find them alone, most of the time. You're talking about starting a war."

"We're already at war." Buffy counter-pointed out. "We're always at war with vampires, demons, the forces of darkness, blah, blah, the whole Watcher speech."Faith smiled just a little at that. "Besides," Buffy continued, "I wasn't thinking go out and start attacking their strong-holds and everything. I mean, that crossed my mind, but I did learn a few things from last year, and stuff Giles has been trying to tell me occasionally sinks in." Rarely could Buffy effectively pull off self-deprecating, this time, she managed it to a 'T'. Or perhaps an 'S'.

"No." She kept going. "I was actually thinking you could go to Chicago and talk to this guy Giles mentioned to me last night when I was asking more about this 'White Council'. Giles never devoted that much study to the other courts, he said, so he suggested talking to other people. Some group called the Ventori Umbrorum, another called the Brotherhood of St. Giles,"

"Saint Giles?" Faith cracked a smile, then tried to fight back laughter, and nearly collapsed, laughing for a minute and change. "They're real?"

"He says they are. And Saint Giles is a real Saint too. Patron of a lot of different things, including lepers and outcasts. But those two groups are allies of the White Council, a sort of Witch and Wizard government-y thing. And until pretty recently, the White Council and the Red Court of Vampires was at war. They signed some kind of cease-fire, or peace, or something. Giles didn't know the details offhand. The Council's Warden, or official guy, for this part of the United States is based in Chicago. His name is Harry Dresden. He's even in the Chicago phone book, under Wizard."

Faith laughed again, just a little. "What happened to secret identity?"

"Who is actually going to believe he's a real wizard?" Buffy pointed out. "Chicago isn't Sunnydale, but I know how far people are willing to go to pretend that all the supernatural stuff isn't real. They probably think its a joke, most of them."

Faith shrugged. "I guess. So you want me to go to Chicago and talk to him? Get the info on the Red Court?"

"And this White Court, and anything else you can find out. The White Council as well. Maybe see if we can get his help, or something. Could always have more help."

Faith shrugged. "What the hell. Fine." _Probably stop by, say hi to Abigail too._ The woman had insisted on being called 'Abigail', nothing shorter or easier to say. Since calling her 'A', didn't work, and she hadn't responded to being called 'Abby', Faith had gone along with it. _Get her phone number. Didn't get it then. _She had been rather busy being unconscious and severely injured before she eventually left. Slipped her mind. Besides, it might be useful to see if any of her old friends when she had been on the Cleveland Hellmouth were still around, maybe

**Harry Dresden's Residence, Chicago**

**3:15 pm, June 22nd, 2003**

Harry looked up as he heard the knock on his door.

"Mr. Dresden?" The female – and unfamiliar – voice asked on the other side of the door. "Are you in?" Harry put down the book he'd been reading went over to the door. He checked to make sure he was still wearing his shield bracelet – he rarely took it off these days – and opened the door. He did not lower the wards, however.

The woman on the the other side of the door had brown hair, and the clothes she wore was the epitome of the high powered, professional business woman.

"Hello Mr. Dresden." She said once the door was open. "My name is Lilah Morgan." She produced a business card and handed it to him. The embossed red W&H dominating the card made it pretty obvious who she was with. But she said so anyway, "I'm with Wolfram and Hart Chicago. The CEO actually. Can I come in?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, handing back the card to her. "I don't know. Can you?" He stepped aside, a clear non-verbal invitation. He still hadn't lowered the wards, though.

Lilah chuckled slightly. "Do you mean I can walk over a threshold without an invitation? Yes, I can." She answered. "Can I walk past the extremely formidable wards you put up after an army of Kemmlerian zombies beat your door down last October? No." She saw the look on his face at that, and smiled. "I'm with Wolfram and Hart. Its our job to know everything. Get used to it."

"Why should I just let you past the wards? We're hardly on the same team, and you lead the local branch of Hell Incorporated."

"I don't have anything to do with running the various Hell Dimensions Wolfram and Hart owns." Lilah said with a smile. "Except when I arrange for people to be transferred to the third-world ones. Wolfram and Hart is just the legal team for Hell Incorporated." She extended his metaphor, smiling just a little longer before adopting a more serious expression. "I'm not here to be a threat to you. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't come in person. I'm good at many things, but they do not include killing someone of your power all by my lonesome. If I wanted you dead, I'd kill you by blowing this building up, or maybe using a microwave emitter on a satellite to cook you from orbit. But starting a war with the White Council is against company policy."

Despite himself, Harry smiled a little at the mention of cooking him from orbit. "Reminds me of when I killed a Black Court vampire by dropping a frozen turkey on him from a plane."

"Sounds like quite the story. Can I come in?"

"We can have the discussion fine here. What did you want?"

"To talk."

"About?"

"A mutually profitable business arrangement."

"I won't come to work for you."

"I didn't think you would." Lilah replied. "I mean, you said no to Marcone, and while Marcone may be many things, most of them 'negative', but as evil as we are? Not in a thousand years."

"So then what is it you want to offer me?"

"Susan Rodriguez." Lilah replied softly.

Harry didn't need to hear any more. He knew full well what she was offering. Part of him, just as it had when Lash had offered, told him to throw everything to the wind and take her offer, whatever it...Harry forced himself under control. "Mention her to me again, Miss Morgan." Harry said stiffly, "And I may just start another war." He slammed the door in her face.

**Next Time, on Tales from Oracle Securities:** _Harry goes to Cleveland to talk to a 'Willow Rosenberg' at the same time that Faith arrives in Chicago – and runs into Karrin Murphy. And she still has that 'escaped from prison' thing going for her..._

**Author's Note: **While I do have the next few chapters sketched out, I am still taking requests for characters/plot points (original, Dresdenverse, Buffyverse and Angelverse) you'd like to see more of in Tales from Oracle Securities.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Ah do not own Dresden Files, Angel the Series, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer

**Author's Note:** Slight delay, and I didn't get into everything I wanted to get into with this chapter, but I figured the best bet was to put up what I could get and worry about writers block later.

Tales From Oracle Securities

By Alkeni

Chapter 2b: New Arrivals II

**Slayer Headquarters, Cleveland**

**11:23 am, June 24th, 2003**

Sometimes Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden enjoyed being a Warden. Or, at least, he sometimes enjoyed certain aspects of the job. The extra paycheck was nice, and having the Wardens not looking at him in askance every five seconds was a definite perk. Except for Donald Morgan, but that guy would probably never stop distrusting Harry anyway.

But, the fact of the matter was that all too often – most of the time, really, if he was perfectly honest – Harry hated his job. Well, large parts of it, and severely disliked the rest. Having spent most of his adult life on the wrong side of the Wardens – unjustly, but that was neither here nor there – wearing the grey cloak never sat well with him. It probably never would, at that, even with all the time he'd theoretically have to live, being a wizard.

_Not that I'm likely to actually be able to live to a ripe old age, with my luck._ He thought to himself wryly. Then, _well, hell's bells Harry. Now you've gone and jinxed yourself._

And today, one of the parts of his job as Warden he was hating was the assignment Captain Luccio had given him yesterday.

Wizards of the White Council tended to avoid the mystic convergences/dimensional weak points known as Hellmouths like the plague. That was the first thing that was bothering him. The dark energies of the place were setting him on edge – it wasn't the darkness, in of itself that was bothering him, but the sheer unnaturalness of the place, rather.

One would think, with the ease that Hellmouths could be used to conduct various dark rituals and even bring about apocalypses, the White Council would keep a closer eye on the Hellmouths. But the reality of the situation, apart from the tendency for Hellmouths to make Warlocks out of even the most upstanding wizards if they stayed on one for a long period of time, was that it was a lot harder to end the world, when you got right down to it, than one might think. For starters, various forces that liked the world perfectly intact, thank you very much, had spent a great deal of time and energy making sure that the magical rituals that _could_ end the world were as close to lost and impossible to find as they could make them. Then, of course, false rituals often got spread around. Much like the White Council's efforts to spread fake books on how to do sponsored magic properly.

Indeed, the White Council was one of those forces.

Another factor, of course, was that for every demon, vampire or mad cultist that got it into his head to destroy the world – and then actually started acting on it – there was another one right around the corner who was trying to stop them – because they, for one reason or another, didn't want the world to end. And of course, there were groups like Wolfram and Hart, which apparently didn't like competition in the Apocalypse department.

But also, the Watchers Council had always kept a close eye on the Hellmouths, and their Slayer wasn't vulnerable to the corruption a Hellmouth could expose a wizard to. Between them, the Council and the Slayer had been able to mostly keep a lid on Hellmouth activity. There'd been a few scares, and according to Luccio, a few times in the past, the Council had had to get involved directly on a Hellmouth – go in quick, deal with the problem, and then leave just as quickly.

Wardens also didn't need to go to Hellmouths to deal with Warlocks either. Any warlock in the knew avoided Hellmouths – the power was very real, but so too was the risk. Those warlocks that were crazy enough to go to Hellmouths, or didn't know how much a problem they were didn't really have to worry about the Council coming to mess with them, but they usually died at the hands of one or or another of the many inhabitants of a Hellmouth, given the kinds of 'natives' they attracted.

But, for once, it seemed, a bloody death hadn't been the fate of this particular young woman. He had been sent here to Cleveland to assess a woman who, in terms of power, almost certainly qualified as a full wizard, but she had also grown up entirely on a Hellmouth – the late, unlamented Sunnydale Hellmouth actually – and was almost entirely self-taught, as far as anyone could tell.

A dangerous combination.

She might have continued to evade the notice of the White Council, since she had relocated to yet another Hellmouth – the only other one in the Western Hemisphere – if not for the fact that she was associated with the now hundreds – at least – of Slayers across the world. And quite possibly she was responsible for the fact that there were so many Slayers now, according to some of the rumors.

Of course, the very thing that drew her to the Council's attention would also make dealing with her much harder. In terms of the Laws of Magic, Slayers counted as human, and Harry doubted, if Willow Rosenberg turned out to be a Warlock, that the Slayers would just stand there when the Council's justice was dispensed to her. Punishing her would be, if it was necessary, a massive undertaking. Risking 'war' with an organization the Council really didn't want to go to war with, for that matter.

Harry knocked on the front door of the innocuous looking building that now served as 'Slayer Headquarters' and was also apparently Willow Rosenberg's address.

He was forced to wait for a few minutes, standing out there, feeling just a little bit stupid, before finally the door opened.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" The speaker was a young African-American girl – no, more a teenager – who had a noticeable aura of slight menace about her. Nothing overtly threatening. The girl looked him over once before she actually spoke. _Probably one of the many Slayers,_ Harry thought to himself.

"I'm here to see Willow Rosenberg."

"But does Willow want or need to see you?" The girl retorted. "Who are you."

"I'm Gandalf." Harry quipped.

"Gandalf wore white. And even when he wore grey, it was a lighter shade than what you have on." Harry was wearing the official grey robes of a Warden. Another annoying part of the job. "And," The British-accented girl, also a teenager, who stepped into Harry's field of vision continued, "he had a beard."

"Alright, you got me." Harry conceded, faking defeat in his tone for a second. His urge to be a wise-ass always came up at the worst times. "I'm not Gandalf. I'm Harry Dresden. Warden of the White Council."

"Wait there." The black girl said. She half-turned towards the other girl. "Go ask Willow what she wants us to do with this guy."

The girl nodded, the went out of Harry's line of sight. Forced to wait for several more minutes, Harry almost felt like twiddling his thumbs just to pass the time, but his burnt hand was still not quite ready for something involving that much fine motion.

Finally, the British-accented girl came back down. "Willow will see you. But she says you'll have to leave your blasting rod and staff down here."

"You want me to go in completely disarmed?" Harry asked. Definitely not good.

"It's that or you aren't going in at all." The English girl said.

It only took Harry a minute to finally decide that he needed to comply. He nodded. "Fine."

The black girl stepped aside, but pointedly didn't invite him in verbally. Not that it mattered – no threshold for this part of the building – but presumably some kind of force of habit, since she was a Slayer. He leaned his staff against the wall, then did the same with his blasting rod. He saw stairs, and pointed at them. "I go up those?"

The Slayers nodded. "Third door on your left." Harry went up the stairs and opened the aforementioned door.

A young woman with short red hair, wearing jeans and a T-shirt was waiting for him inside. She'd set up two folding chairs, and was sitting in one of them. "So you're the wizard cop?" Willow asked.

"That would be me." Harry agreed. "Primarily I'm here to test you, determine if you are powerful enough to be a member of the White Council-"

"I'm not interested." Willow interrupted. "I'm powerful enough, but I don't want to be a member of the White Council. From what Giles told me about you, I want nothing to do with that. Plus, you guys signed those Unseelie Accords. He called them the Geneva Conventions of the Supernatural world."

"Not that accurate, when you get right down to it, but it works as an analogy." Harry nodded.

"The Slayers haven't signed, and I'm with them. I'm not going to let my actions be limited by its strictures, so that I can't help my friends fight demons and monsters and all that."

Harry understood where she was coming from. "I'm not sure how the rest of the Council will take that." Then he shrugged. "Not my problem, unless they have me come back to talk to you again. The other thing is to make sure you're not a warlock and that you're aware of the laws of magic-"

"Don't kill people, don't transform people, don't mess with people's minds, don't read people's minds, don't create zombies, don't travel through time, and don't mess with stuff from beyond the 'outer gates'. Did I miss one?"

"I get the impression you don't want me around." Harry said. He tried to catch her eyes for a soul-gaze. Willow Rosenberg avoided his gaze.

"No, I won't soulgaze you. I like my privacy."

"I need to determine if you've broken any of the laws of magic."

"And what will you do if I have?" Willow asked softly. "There are at least thirty Slayers in this building at any given time, you can't use magic to kill me or any others of them, and you left your staff and blasting rod behind. And if you come after me, my friends will go after you guys. And those friends include hundreds of Slayers among their friends."

Harry chuckled. "You prepared."

"Ever since Giles told us about you guys, I've been expecting a visit."

"Giles?"

"Watcher." Willow said. "He was Buffy's watcher when she went to Sunnydale, and now he's 'head watcher'. He and Buffy run the – well, we're not sure what we're calling ourselves yet, to be honest. Watchers Council doesn't seem fitting, since most of the Watchers are dead and Slayers massively outnumber the number of Watchers, but the supernatural world knows the name 'Watchers Council'."

"Ah." Harry looked at her. "Have you broken any of the laws of magic?"

Again, she avoided meeting his eyes. "I have never broken one of the laws of magic." Willow knew she was lying through her teeth. _And Dresden can probably guess that I am, somewhat..._ She'd raised the dead, messed with people's memories and killed with magic. The temple of Proxpersa wasn't technically a violation...but the Wardens would probably label 'trying to destroy the world' as 'killing with magic'. _I'm not going to just let them execute me..._ Willow had the magic under control. In part because she was never going to do as much with it as she had before. And she wasn't going to die and force her friends to do without her help...

"If you want, you can hang-around for a while and watch me in action. I know you guys tend to avoid Hellmouths-"

"Whereas you grew up on one and have since moved to another." Harry pointed out.

"And I'm still sane. Being born on one is probably the reason that I _haven't_ gone insane like the people you guys send to Hellmouths. The reason I wasn't killed by one of the many natives was because I was lucky enough to have the Slayer as my best friend. Some kind of Hellmouth vaccine, or something." She made a small laugh somewhere between a giggle and a chuckle.

Harry considered. It might be the best option available to him...though he couldn't stick around on the Hellmouth for long, a week or so shouldn't do that much harm. The Wardens that had been stationed on Hellmouths before took months, sometimes years before they went insane...

"Alright. Fine."

**Harry Dresden's Apartment, Chicago**

**12:31 pm, June 24th, 2003**

"Great." Faith muttered to herself, after knocking on Harry Dresden's door for the second time in as many minutes. "I come all the way to Chicago to talk to Harry Dresden, and he's not in his office, or even his home."

She decided to go wait outside the door just a little bit longer, then knock on the door after a few minutes. To pass the time, she took one of her stakes out of a pocket of her coat and tossed it about a foot into the air, then caught it. She repeated the motion for a short while, then knocked on the door again, tucking the weapon back into her coat. She waited.

No response.

Faith sighed violently, and pulled out her cell-phone. She'd call a cab, get a room at an expensive hotel, rack up an expense account, and pay for it all on the company credit car. Probably stop by Oracle Securities and say hi to Abigail, get her number. Bother Wes too, while she was at it.

"Who are you?" Faith turned at the sound of the female voice, and saw the speaker standing in front of a car that hadn't been there five minutes ago. She was short and blonde, and made Faith think of what an older Buffy might look like...though actually, Buffy might even be taller than this woman. _Buffy? Taller than someone? Now there's a strange concept._

"I'd ask you the same question." Faith turned it back around on her. "If you're here to see Dresden," She added, "He isn't here."

"He isn't? Then where is he?" Karrin Murphy knew she had never met this young woman before...at least she was pretty sure she hadn't, but something about her seemed familiar...she just couldn't place it.

Faith shrugged. "I have no idea. I came up to Chicago to talk to him, and he wasn't in his office, and then I came here, and he's not here either." She looked at the new arrival pointedly. "Look, one of us is going to have to break down and say who we are, or we're going to be standing here all day. And neither of us are equipped for a pissing contest. I'm Faith."

That name...and then it hit her. Her face had been all over the news a while back, after she'd broken out of some prison out in California... it had stuck in her head because her rap sheet had been quite impressive for how young she had been when she'd actually been imprisoned...

Karrin Murphy grabbed her badge and gun, and held them both up, pointing the gun at Faith. "Faith Lehane, you're under arrest. Get down on your knees and put you hands on your head."

_Shit._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dresden Files, and I do not own Angel the Series, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer

**Author's Note:** Unforgivable delay is unforgivable, I know. I blame papers and the Thanksgiving Holiday.

Tales from Oracle Securities

By Alkeni

Chapter 3: Arrested, Again?

**Harry Dresden's Apartment, Chicago**

**12:35 pm, June 24th, 2003**

Faith cursed a few dozen more times in her head as the cop kept pointing the gun at her.

"Now!" Murphy demanded. "It was _not_ a request."

"Look, officer-" Faith started.

"_Detective_." Murphy interrupted, correcting her.

Faith bit back a smartass remark. "Fine. Detective, then. The point is, I have no idea what you're talking about-"

"Bullshit." The detective interrupted again, keeping her gun still aimed at Faith.

"I don't know what you think I did-"

"Two counts of homicide, a dozen of assault and you broke out of prison. Sound familiar? Get down on your knees and put your hands on your head." She repeated.

_Well Fuck._ She had thought that Giles had arranged to have the charges dropped. _Not yet...damnit, damnit, damnit._ It hadn't been that long since English had gone to the mother country. Maybe he had to have access to all the Council's stuff before he could do it then...

She had a few options, none of them particularly appealing. She could easily knock the gun out of the detective's hands, knock her to the ground and cuff her to her own car with her handcuffs. On the upside, no going to prison. On the down side, she'd get more cops coming after her, which would just make her life harder, since she didn't want to hurt any more cops than she had to. And she was just trying to get on with her life.

The other option, of course, was to go along with her and go to prison, at least for a little while, until Giles could arrange to get her out of prison.

She was going to regret this. _Hell. I already am._ Faith raised her hands up, slowly. "I'm going to reach into my pocket, grab my phone, and call my boss so he can get me a lawyer. So don't shoot."

"Take it out slowly." Murphy said. "Very slowly."

"That's what I was planning on doing, Detective." Faith took her phone out of her coat pocket and dialed Giles's cell phone number quickly.

It rang a few times on his end, then she heard him pick up, and a moment later, his voice came through. "Hello, Faith? What is it?"

"Hey Giles." Faith said, faking chipper in her voice for a moment, then, "Well, I'm here in Chicago, since Buffy sent me here, and I've got a Detective pointing a gun at me saying that I'm under arrest."

She heard, on the other end of the line, Giles sigh. "What did you do this time, Faith?"

"Hey!" Faith protested. "I didn't do anything. They just want to arrest me."

"Oh. Yes. That. Your...previous warrants." _Now Giles gets it?_ "Yes...well...I apologize for that...I was going to see to your...situation tomorrow..."

"Well, its a little too late for that now, isn't it, Giles?" Faith snarked at him.

"Quite." He replied, then, "I do hope you're not planning to assault-"

"No, I'm not. I'm going to be a good little citizen and go along quietly. Just make sure I get a good lawyer. And-"

"Yes, I'll get the charges dropped. The council has plenty of pull. And I'll see to it that you get a good lawyer."

"Good." Faith said, annoyance still clear in her voice. "Oh, and Giles?"

"Yes?"

"Don't mention this to Buffy."

"Not a word, Faith." Giles promised, sighing.

Without another word herself, Faith hung up her cell phone and slowly put it back in her pocket. She dropped to her knees and put her hands behind her head. "Alright lady-cop. Let's get this over with."

Karrin Murphy hissed in annoyance, but didn't correct her. She lowered her gun just a little and approached Faith, handcuffs in hand. "Faith Lehane, you're under arrest." She cuffed Faith's wrists together behind her back and pulled her to her feet. "You have the right to remain-"

"Don't I at least get to know your name before you take me in?"

Murphy frowned at her, annoyed. "My name is Karrin Murphy."

"Great. Murphy's law really does exist." Faith said, half-humorlessly. Xander had used the phrase a lot during the build up to the battle with the First. Eventually, she'd had to ask him what he'd meant by it. Sometimes, it really did describe her life.

Murphy clenched her teeth and started the Miranda reading again. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you..."

**Wyndam-Pryce Estate, One Hour Northwest of London**

**6:38 pm, June 24th, 2003**

Giles hung up the phone and set it on the table, then looked across the desk he was sitting at to Wesley. When he'd come to England to sort out the mountains of paperwork he had to deal with regarding his assuming leadership of the Council – what was left of it – he'd expected to make some interesting discoveries. Some of the places the Council had hidden its money – and he'd gotten nowhere near finding all of it – were somewhere between absurd and unbelievable.

One of the things he hadn't expected was that he'd be face to face with Wesley to sort out Roger Wyndam-Pryce's will. As the head of the Watcher's Council, the will of the late Wyndam-Pryce required that he serve as the primary executor for certain Watcher-related items and provisions. Some of Roger's possessions were being given to the Council, other, nonmagical ones to certain museums and private collections, et cetera.

"Faith has gotten herself arrested? Again?" Wesley asked cooly, raising one eyebrow.

"It isn't polite to eavesdrop on the conversations of others, Wesley." Giles admonished him uselessly. Then he sighed. "She has. In Chicago, no less."

"My city?" Wesley asked, unknowingly echoing a sentiment said in various forms by Harry Dresden several times.

"Chicago is no more your city than any other one person's." Giles replied, sharply.

"What did she do?"

"Nothing, she claims. Most likely, someone recognized her. She's a wanted a woman."

"I thought you were going to arrange to have that taken care of." Wesley replied. "Would seem like common sense, anyone."

"I was _planning_ on getting to it tomorrow." He pushed several stapled pages over to Wesley. "Read over that. It should cover everything that needs to be handled with your father's will." He changed topic without any subtlety.

Wesley took the papers and read over them while Giles picked his phone up and made another call. The British Government had an official liaison with the Council.

"Hello?" The man on the other end of the line asked after one ring.

"Hello, Alexander?" Giles asked.

"Rupert Giles? Ah, excellent. So all the paperwork is sorted out, then? You're formally head of the Council?"

"I am." Giles replied.

"That is good news. The Prime Minister shall be relieved to find out you have things sorted out."

"Not entirely sorted, unfortunately. But we're making significant progress." Giles said. "But that's not the reason I've called. One of the Slayers has been arrested in the United States. She has...outstanding warrants. They need to be dealt with."

"You'll want to talk to the Americans, then. If I recall correctly, Presidential Pardons for Council personnel are par for the course, and included in the agreement you lot made with the Americans in 1790."

"So I'll just place a call into the Oval Office, then?" Giles asked, sarcasm intruding. "I'm sure that will work."

"No. You'll want to call the head of their Paranormal and Supernatural Crimes Unit." Alexander said.

"Their what? They have a -"

"They do." The liaison answered. "As I understand it, the Council never really liked the Americans having that little organization. Travers probably never told anyone. They're the official liaisons between the President and the Council, among their other duties."

"I was under the impression the Initiative was disbanded-"

"It was." Alexander said. "The complete failure of the Initiative's operation in Sunnydale gave the PSCU the grounds it needed to take back sole authority over the supernatural in the United States. They were very critical of the idea from the beginning, but some generals with too much clout and not enough brains, as well as some overly paranoid spooks cobbled the Initiative together and convinced the President it was a good idea. A lot of heads rolled after the project ended."

"Well. That is good. How do I get-"

Alexander gave Giles a number. "That's a direct line to their leader, Janice Tyler. Tell her who your Slayer is, where she's been arrested and all that, and she'll arrange for the President to issue a pardon."

"Alright. Very good. I'm sure we'll speak again soon, Alexander."

"I'm sure we will, Rupert." Giles hung up the phone. He looked over at Wesley, who had finished the paperwork.

"Give me a moment, Wesley." He dialed the number Alexander gave him.

"Hello?" An elderly female voice said on the other end of the line. "Who is this?"

"This is Rupert Giles. Head of the Watchers Council."

"Ah yes...the Watchers. I was wondering if you lot would ever recover from what happened last year." She sounded...disappointed.

"We did. I'm calling because I'm told you can arrange a pardon for one of my Slayers-"

"One of? Isn't there only supposed to be one?"

"Until recently, yes. Surely you've heard about the new developments by now."

"I dismissed them as impossible." She admitted.

"Understandable. But it is very true. And this one has managed to get herself in a spot of legal trouble. Which is what I need corrected."

"Who is it, and what did she do?"

"Faith Lehane." He gave her the list of her charges. "She is quite innocent of all the charges, save for the breaking out of prison."

"Mhm." Janice Tyler said. "And yet it says here she confessed at her trial."

"Demonic influence. You'll notice the hand of Wolfram and Hart was all over those proceedings."

"I see." She didn't seem like she completely believed him. "I'll call the President."

"Excellent. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I'm just doing my job." She hung up on him.

"That's going to raise questions, don't you think?" Wesley asked. "A presidential pardon?"

"Everything we do raises questions. Speaking of, I need to hire Lindsey McDonald."

"You want to hire a lawyer from my firm to defend Faith?"

"Just to keep the police off her back while the Pardon goes through its process. Its not as if the Watchers Council can't pay."

"Its _Faith_." Wesley clarified. "I may have made use of her when handling the Red Court, but I have no interest in helping-" Giles named a sum. Wesley paused mid-tirade and blinked a moment. "That much?"

"Indeed."

Wesley pulled out his phone and called Lindsey.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them. Moving right along.

No. No excuses for the delay are available.

Tales from Oracle Securities

Chapter 4: Familiar Faces in Strange Places

**Lindsey's Office, Oracle Securities**

**12:47 pm, June 24th, 2003**

"You knew how to get me out of that bloody amulet! You have to know how to make me not a ghost anymore! Come on, tattoo-boy, I'm dying here!"

"You're already dead. Twice." Lindsey said, not looking up from the legal brief that he was typing for the latest civil case Oracle Securities was facing Wolfram and Hart in.

"I can't drink blood, I can't smoke, I can't drink beer! I can't even beat the shit out of anything. I know you've been researching the gaudy pimp-necklace-"

"To see how to put you back inside it if you keep being so utterly annoying. Can't you go bother Abigail? She at least enjoys your company. God knows why."

"Bothering you is more entertaining at the moment. Telekinesis girl is busy training. That gets boring after a while."

"I don't care if you get bored." Lindsey replied. "I have things to do. Entertaining you is not one of them." Just as he finished talking, the phone rang. Still not looking away from the legal brief, he picked it up with one hand, tilting his head to hold it against his shoulder as he kept working. "Lindsey McDonald, Oracle-"

"It's me." Wesley cut in, tone clipped.

Lindsey stopped typing and held the phone. He gestured silently at Spike to leave. The ghost-vampire with a soul just raised his eyebrow a moment, then shook his head and crossed his arms in front of him, looking amused at the lawyer. Rolling his eyes, Lindsey turned away from the vampire and focused on the phone call. "What do you need?"

"Your legal services. It seems that Faith has gotten arrested. In Chicago."

"She's back here? How long?" He heard Wesley speak to someone on the other end, then,

"A few hours, apparently. She came up here to meet Harry Dresden. The wizard wasn't in, and in the meantime, she's gone and gotten herself arrested for...previous warrants."

"The Council didn't take care of that?"

"In the Council's defense, the council amounts to basically just Giles, at the moment. But yes, he was supposed to handle the warrants already." Lindsey heard an indignant 'hey!' on the other end, but Wesley seemed to pay it no mind. "Giles has arranged for her to be pardoned, but he wants you to cover things in the Police Station until it all goes through."

"And why are we doing favors for Faith, or the Council, for that matter?"

"We're not 'doing favors'. He's offering to pay." Wesley named the sum. Lindsey raised an eyebrow. "I think Giles hasn't gotten used to having a lot of money."

"Probably not." Wesley said, the slightest hint of a chuckle in his voice. "And do try to make sure Spike doesn't know that Faith is in town."

"Too late." Spike chipped in from the sidelines. "Vampire hearing. And since you won't give Buffy or Red a call, I'll have to see if she wants to help." Spike quickly went out of the room, making his way for the stairs – or, if someone was in it, the elevator.

"Shit." Wesley muttered. "Put the Amulet back in the safe, and don't open it for anything. They can't do anything without the amulet, hopefully."

"We could just-" Lindsey started. Wesley was starting to get annoying on this.

"No." Wesley said with finality.

This time, that didn't sway Lindsey. "Wes, I get your reasoning, but we can't have him hanging around here, alright? He's making it hard for some people to do their jobs, what with his constant bothering. At the very least, he's too damn annoying to keep here."

"Put it in the vault." Wesley's tone lost none of its finality.

"Yes, fine." Lindsey conceded the point. "Anyway, I'm on my way to the police station now, then." He hung up the phone. As he got up, he opened a drawer in his desk and took out the amulet. He considered it for a moment then headed for the elevator. He pressed a button, then scanned his ID card.

_The vault here isn't really that much more secure than the vault at Wolfram and Hart...not that Angel is likely to come by and steal from it. He's the only guy that ever managed it. Why didn't they kill him again?_ Lindsey's 'evil hand' twitched for a moment, and the lawyer smirked.

**Chicago Police Department, Special Investigations Divisions**

**1:28 pm, June 24th, 2003**

"What were you doing outside Harry Dresden's residence?" Detective Karrin Murphy asked Faith Lehane for the seventy-third time.

Indeed, and that was exactly accurate. Faith had taken to her amusing herself by keeping track of the times that the cop repeated herself. Not that it was very amusing, but then, nothing about this predicament was really what she'd call amusing, by any stretch of the imagination."

"Seventy three." Faith said.

"What?" Murphy had been about to go ahead and repeat asking another question. Probably where she'd been since her prison break. Faith's command threw her off completely.

"Seventy-Three." Faith repeated. "You've asked me that question seventy three times. Its getting more than a little old. Could you at least repeat one of the other questions that many times? Or even close. The next most repeated question you've done you've only one thirty-nine times. Mix it up a little, lady-cop. Isn't variety supposed to be the spice of life, or some bullshit like that?"

Murphy opened her mouth to respond and then closed it. She was thrown completely off. Technically, she probably shouldn't be handling this case at all. It wasn't remotely in SI's purview. But she was outside Harry's office, and in her mind, that made it her concern. Wanted murderer outside his office. Not something that she could ignore.

The door to the interrogation room opened. Rawlins was there. "Her Lawyer is here." He stepped aside.

"Lindsey McDonald, Oracle Securities."

"Lindsey!?" Faith exclaimed as she saw the lawyer walk in. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm your lawyer." Lindsey replied.

"Like hell you are!" Faith protested. "I don't want anything to do with Wolfram and Hart!"

"Then isn't it fortunate I don't work for them anymore." Lindsey drawled.

"I don't think you just get to walk out of that place with just a resignation letter on the boss's desk." Faith shot back.

"No." Lindsey agreed. "But they let you out if you have an evil hand and you shoot their offices up. You'd be surprised how much evil lawyers like to keep their lives." He held up the hand in question. "I work for Wes now. I could hand you my cell phone and have you call him, but he's not in the best of moods right now."

"Is he ever?" Murphy asked him.

"Not really. Comes with being psychotic." Lindsey answered. "Oh, and you'll want to let Faith go." He told the detective. "You have nothing on which you can hold her."

"Like hell I don't!" Murphy exclaimed. "Murder, assault, jailbreak-"

"Not in the least. You're going to get a call in..." He looked at his watch. "About a minute or so, from someone _much _higher in the food chain than you telling you to let Faith go." As if on cue, Murphy's cell phone rang. Instinctively, she picked it up and opened it, holding it up to her ear.

"Detective Karrin Murphy."

A pause, then, slowly, "Yes, Mr. Governor, I am holding a Faith Lehane in custody. She's wanted...she's been **what**?"

"I'm sorry, Governor, I don't quite underst- Yes. Alright. Understood. Yes Governor." She hung the phone up and glared at the two of them. "How the hell do you get a Presidential Pardon?"

Faith smirked. _Giles came through pretty quickly._ "Let's say he owes me and some of the other people I work with quite a bit." She held out her handcuffed hands. "Now, if you don't mind? I could just break them right now, but I'm feeling charitable." She looked confused a moment. "Jesus I'm spending too much time around Red and Giles."

**Lilah's Office, Wolfram and Hart Chicago**

**4:17 pm, June 24th, 2003**

"A Presidential Pardon?" Denna exclaimed. "Isn't that overkill?"

"Its what the Watchers Have." Lilah shrugged. "Enough of talking about Faith. What is the word from the other branches?"

"Not much, to be honest." Denna replied. "Things are pretty quiet, or going as expected. The relocation of key clients out of Cleveland – usually to other dimensions – is going as planned, and out other regional offices are doing what they can to prepare for eventual Slayer incursion into their areas of expertise. The Senior Partners have decided to cancel the plans to build an office in London, since the Council isn't as dead as they were hoping."

Denna looked down at her notes. "But Los Angeles, as usual, is not proceeding uninterrupted according to plan."

"What did everyone's favorite undead American do this time?"

"He killed Magnus Hainsley. Well, his son did, anyway."

"Wasn't there a memo about Cyvus Vail and that angsty kid?"

"Nothing specific, but yes. Vail has some kind of plan with Conner in the works, according to the Seers."

"Have them focus on more practical things. Like stock futures. I'm tired of paying attention to demon politics." Lilah said. "Oh, and get me Gregory of Arles. I have a little assignment for the detestable little fuck."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dresden Files or Angel the Series or Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Tales from Oracle Securities

By Alkeni

Chapter Five: _Spike?!_

**CPD, SI Division Parking Lot**

**1:45 pm, June 24****th****, 2003**

Lindsey opened the passenger side door to his truck for Faith. He did not, however, wait for her to enter the vehicle before he walked around the front end and opened the driver's side door, getting into the car and buckling up.

"Get in." He told Faith tersely.

"Why Lindsey!" Faith smirked, mocking him. "I never knew you were such a gentleman!" Lindsey rolled his eyes but didn't deign to give her a response. Once Faith was in place and buckled in – which took a pointed look from Lindsey to get done – the former lawyer drove out of the police station parking lot. Once they were a few minutes onto the road, Faith spoke. "So, spill."

"Spill what?"

"Why you're working for Wes at his place rather than working for Evil Incorporated."

"You want the long version or the short version?"

"What do you think?" Now it was Faith's turn to look pointedly at Lindsey.

"Fine." Lindsey scoffed. "Short version: I wasn't evil enough."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Come _on_, Linds. You have to give me more than that." She smirked again.

"Don't call me Linds." Lindsey shuddered. "Makes me cringe even saying it myself."

"Alright then. How about Lin? Or L?"

"Or how about my _name?_"

"I don't go in for names for most people."

"If you want to know more than the 'I wasn't evil enough' explanation, then you're going to have to accept that my name is Lindsey."

"Fine. _Lindsey._" Faith stretched his name. "Happy now?"

"Not really, but it'll do."

"Alright then. Spill."

"First: Why do you care?"

"Because. Sitting still and doing nothing has never been my thing, and I want to spend the car ride to Wes' office building doing something other than that."

"Long version: I helped Angel rescue some kids that Wolfram and Hart was going to try to kill. Then I went back to work for Wolfram and Hart. Angel cut off my hand to stop me from destroying the only way he had to save his precious seer-girl, Cordelia. Then...the Darla thing."

Faith had heard enough, in bits and pieces, to know what Lindsey as talking about. She nodded. "What the hell were your bosses thinking? That was a stupid-ass plan from the beginning."

"It wasn't so much the Senior Partners' plan." Lindsey pointed out. "More it was Holland Manners' idea. He was in love with the elaborate and overdone plot. But the Senior Partners were incredibly stupid to think that they could recruit Angel. The fact that they kept trying even after the Darla thing." He scoffed. "They're immortal, eternally patient demons. I don't think they have an understanding of when to cut their losses on a project that is producing higher costs than the potential rewards. Which is why they have us...and then they ignore our arguments. Lilah and I must have written dozens of memos pointing out why they should just kill Angel and be done with it."

"Why were they so hot on getting him work for them?"

"The Scrolls of Aberjian."

"The Scrolls of aber-whatsit?"

"The Scrolls of Aberjian." Lindsey repeated. "Ancient prophecies. A big chunk of them deals with 'the vampire with a soul', saying that he's going to have a really big role in the coming apocalypse. The Senior Partners decided that meant that if they had him on their side, they'd be sure to win." He laughed. "I think they're still planning on getting him on their side. Trying to find a new approach."

"I heard they actually offered him and his team control of Wolfram and Hart in LA when he got back to L.A. after SunnyD become a big fucking hole in the ground."

"Sounds about right." Lindsey replied. He shrugged. "They're not humans. They don't think like us. But, long as they waste their time trying to get him on their side, then they have less energy to spend on anything else. I've come to realize I rather like the world intact." He laughed. "Most Wolfram and Hart employees think like that."

"Then why do they work there?"

"Well, you get roped in and stuck long before you figure out what's what, first of all. And secondly, its pretty easy to imagine that the apocalypse will come long after you're dead."

"When is it coming?" She asked unseriously.

Lindsey shrugged. "No idea. But I tell you what. If you go to the Wolfram and Hart offices here in Chicago and ask Lilah to send you to the White Room, I'm sure you could ask them yourself." He laughed. "I'm sure its been a few centuries, at least, since the Senior Partners tasted Slayer."

Faith punched him in the arm halfheartedly. Lindsey didn't make a noise. He did grimace a little. Halfheartedly from her was still quite the punch. "Anyway, keep going. Why'd you leave?"

Lindsey shrugged and detailed the entire 'evil hand' episode, smiling as he related how he'd shot up the office in that last meeting. "Best moment of my time at Wolfram and Hart."

"They didn't send anyone after you?" Faith said. "Given how quick you sent that demon after me when I didn't kill Angel...Doesn't seem fair."

"Oh, they sent demons after me. They gave up after the first three teams died. Though vanishing into the mountains of Tibet may have had more to do with it, to be honest. And coming back out with these." He lifted one sleeve, showing Faith a few of the mystic tattoos before he lowered it again.

"Nice ink. What do they do?"

"Make me impossible to find using magic, or human surveillance technology, if I don't want to be found. Even the cameras in the Oracle Securities building can't see me. Pisses Mark and Petrovitch off something fierce." Lindsey pulled the car into the parking lot of the aforementioned building.

**Front Lobby, Oracle Securities**

**2:03 pm, June 24****th****, 2003**

"Before we go into the building." Lindsey said, one hand on the door, "There's something you should know."

"What? That Wes used to have a kill order out on me? He didn't put that back on, did he?"

"No, he didn't." Lindsey answered. "Its a little more complicated than that. Short version? Spike's inside."

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Faith demanded. "Spike's dead."

"Spike's been dead for over a hundred years." Lindsey agreed. "Angel's been dead for over two hundred, and you don't see that stopping him from walking around and doing things, more's the pity."

"You know that that is not what I meant, Lindsey."

"And I meant what I said. Spike's inside. The amulet didn't kill him so much as trap him inside it. And that amulet is now here, and he's outside of said amulet."

"Bullshit. If any of that were true, he'd have gone looking for B. Found her, too, in Cleveland."

"Well," Lindsey said as he opened the door. "He came back out of the amulet, like I said. He just wasn't entirely corporeal when he did."

"Corporeal?"

"Solid. He's not solid. Like a ghost."

"Spike's a _ghost_?! Vampires can do that?"

Lindsey shook his head as they walked into the lobby. "No, he's _not_ a ghost, but he's not solid, like one. And he can't leave Chicago. Or, rather, he can't leave the city the Amulet is in. He was actually pretty useful in helping us deal with a particularly nasty warlock, but since, Wesley's just been keeping him stuck here to spite Buffy. Which, I'm hoping you can deal with." He took the bejeweled object out of his pocket and tossed it the short distance over to Faith, who caught it without a thought. "I'm sick and tired of him. He's had nothing better to do for the last month but bother everyone in the building, especially me." Then he paused. "Except for Wesley. Most of the time."

Faith looked at the amulet then back at the lawyer. "Why doesn't he bother Wes? Sounds like its his fault that he's -"

Lindsey shook his head. "No. Actually it is more Wolfram and Hart's fault. They wanted Angel to be the one to use the Amulet. Thought he'd have to be the one to do it. They didn't know Spike had a soul when they made the plan. But it is Wesley's fault that he's still here in Chicago, rather than somewhere else where's not getting in the way of me trying to my job. And since your redheaded witch friend is in Cleveland, you may as well take it back there so Spike can be a real boy again and him and his beloved Buffy can have their little reunion. As for Wesley..." He shrugged. "I don't know why he doesn't bother Wes as much. My theory is that it is because Wesley is the only one here serious when he threatens to call in an exorcist to deal with Spike if he doesn't leave. Though I think Mark's getting there."

"What is Wes gonna say when he finds out that you gave me the amulet to take back to Cleveland?" She didn't really go down for playing courier – she'd had enough of that back when she brought the Box of Gavrock from the airport back to City Hall for the Mayor – but Spike was a good guy, when it was all said and done... He didn't deserve ghosting. Plus, it would make B owe her one.

Lindsey rolled his eyes. "The worst he'll do is give me a very stern lecture. Filled with curse words in at least a dozen different languages, all in that _charming_ English accent of his." he smirked. "I'll live. It'll be worth getting him out of here. Especially since it means Abigail will stop trying to get me to get Wesley to let Spike go. She's gotten all 'its the wrong thing to do' on us. Nevermind that she tried to stake him when she first saw him." Without turning around, he added, "Speaking of, hello Spike. How long have you been standing there?"

Faith turned to see the leather-coat wearing ghost-vampire, who shrugged. "Long enough. And for the record, Lindsey, I'm not scared of Percy, or his big bad spooky exorcist threat. Its just that I can't get as good a rise out of him as I can you and that cross-happy marine.. Besides, he's broods just like Peaches does. Probably picked it up from the tosser."

"Whatever makes you feel better, Spike." Lindsey agreed amicably, smirking.

"Oi! What's that supposed to mean?!" Spike demanded. The lawyer just shook his head, laughing a little, and headed for the elevator. "Abigail should be down in the training rooms in the basement if you want to talk to her, Faith. Maybe tell her the good news. It will spare my ears the squeal they'd endure if I had to tell her myself."

**The Deeper Well, England**

**8:15 am, June 30****th****, 2003**

Rashid, Gatekeeper and Senior Councilor of the White Council of Wizards knew something was wrong the moment he approached the entrance to the Deeper Well.

The position of Gatekeeper was one that predated the White Council, and indeed predated the wizarding government that had predated it that fell with Rome. The need to watch the Outer Gates was as old as the flight of the Old Ones from this reality. And for over two thousand years, every year, on the exact same day, at the exact same time, the sitting Gatekeeper had visited the Deeper Well. For the entirety of his tenure in the position, Rashid had always encountered Drogyn as the Guardian of the Deeper Well. The former knight had always met him out front, at the entrance.

But...not this time. Something was sorely wrong.

He walked through the entrance, his magic at the ready. The pervading sense of _wrongness_ that permeated the place was new...as were the dead demons that had once served Drogyn as guards.

The dead body of Drogyn confirmed what he'd known from the moment he'd entered. The man's heart...ripped out of his ribcage...

The Old Ones imprisoned in the Deeper Well had always been tangential to the greater responsibilities of the Gatekeeper to maintain a watch over the Outer Gates. They were well in hand in the Deeper Well, and it had its own protections and protectors...but now...

He closed his eyes, tapping into the energies of the well, trying to determine which prisoner had been freed...

Only on Sarcophagus was missing.

_Illyria._

Gods help them all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Dresden Files, Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series. I do own any and all original content.

Finally we're getting around to ending the arc that started with 'new arrivals'. Took me long enough, I know.

Tales From Oracle Securities

By Alkeni

Chapter 6: Because Fuck You, That's Why

**Wesley's Office, Oracle Securities**

**4:19 pm, June 26****th****, 2003**

Wesley picked up the phone on his desk and dialed Lindsey's office number. He leaned his head against his shoulder, holding the phone in place as he typed into his computer. It rang twice, then the lawyer picked up on the other end.

"Lindsey here."

Wesley hit 'send' on his computer, then spoke. "Lindsey, can I see you in my office? I have some intelligence regarding something Wolfram and Hart seems to be up to, and I'd like your former insider's opinion."

The lawyer fell for it, hook, line and sinker. "I'll be right up." Wesley drummed his fingers against the desk while he waited. Fortunately, by the time he'd arrived back in Chicago this morning, Faith was already well back onto her way to Cleveland. It was a good thing she was out of town now.

He didn't hate Faith, not after the help she'd given in bringing down the Red Court. Indeed...if he was entirely honest with himself, he wasn't sure if he'd ever really truly _hated_ her. Even when she'd been torturing him, giving him that essential baptism in his own blood that, more than anything else, was critical to his becoming the man he was today, he hadn't hated her. Feared her, yes. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he'd been truly and utterly terrified, on a deep level that, in his life, could only be matched by those hours in the cupboard under the stairs, so many years ago. A soul-crushing, scarring terror. That, more than the pain, or the cuts or the scars, had been what shaped him. He'd been terrified...but no hate. Pity. Not pity in a good way. As he'd said to her then, as he'd believed

_"I was your Watcher, Faith. - I know the real you - and even if you kill me, there is just one thing I want you to remember." _

_"What's that, love?" _

_"You - are a piece of sh-"_

He'd meant it then. It wasn't pity in the way you might feel bad for someone who had lost their leg...more pity at how pathetic Faith seemed, what she had become, from what she had been, once...

_Not that I helped her much at all, once I arrived in Sunnydale..._

No...Wesley didn't hate Faith. Having her around though...a constant reminder of how much of a failure he was... while he was quite happy with his non-Watcher status, and had been for years now, not the least because it seemed to have been the primary thing that saved his life during the First Evil's purge of nearly all the Watchers not killed when the bomb blew up the London Headquarters...

It was true, that breaking with the Council...well...getting fired by them for being a miserable failure of a Watcher... had probably been the best thing to happen to him, in his life, when looked at objectively...

But still... there had been a time, once, when he'd been training to enter the Watcher's Academy...then entered the Academy...been a Watcher...been so proud to be given two Slayers...the honor, the responsibility. It was what every Watcher lived for, to be able to be a Watcher to a Slayer... he'd never expected to get such a responsibility, at his young age...of course, he was sure he could do it...after all, in their wisdom, the unimpeachable Inner Council had chosen him to be the one to replace Rupert Giles... obviously they knew he could do it...and who was he to argue with the Council...

For all his idiocy, his pomposity, his impending failure...then...when he'd been a Watcher, been training to be a Watcher...until soon after his arrival in Sunnydale... he had known.

He had known who he was. He had known where he was going. He had known what he was doing with his life. He had...purpose. A reason.

After being fired by the Council for his many failures...he'd latched onto the slightest hint of a purpose, helping Buffy defeat the Mayor. After that – and he'd gotten himself knocked out of the fight in a heartbeat anyway, compounding his failures even more...

After that...he had nothing. No purpose. He didn't know, really, who he was. Didn't know, really, where he was going.

No…he didn't hate Faith. Besides, the list of people he _did_ hate was long enough without unnecessarily adding Faith to the list.

Topping the list, even though he had been dead for months now, was, of course, his father. Growing up, Wesley hadn't hated his father – he'd been too busy trying to win daddy's love, by being so good at languages and demonology that his father would never, ever hurt him again, or lock him in the closet under the stairs. Or more, really, it was that Wesley hadn't _realized_ that he hated his father, not then, anyway.

It wasn't until after he'd been fired by the Council, freed from its confines and all but disowned by the man that he realized that…he really, truly hated and loathed the man. But he did. The hate he felt for his father was probably the purest emotion left in him, these days, the only one not conflicted. The bitter, hateful letter that his Father had left for Wesley in the will had only solidified those feelings. Wesley had not even the slightest bit of positive feeling left for the man that he had once so desperately sought the love of, the man who had been his father.

A close second to his father, though, was a far more recent hate. Rather than one he had nursed, first unconsciously, then consciously, for most of his life, the hate he felt for Angel was still fresh, and far more complicated. Without their friendship, and not a little hero worship, looming over him, he could see all the glaring flaws of the ensouled vampire. All the selfishness he embodied, all the way down to the empty, hollow apology he'd made in the sewers, right before Wesley had left Los Angeles. That apology, reeking of hypocrisy, had been all he needed to convince him of the truth.

But this is where the internal conflict came in. Because on another, basic level…he also knew that he was being too harsh on the vampire. He had many flaws, but so did everyone…and Angel had many redeeming features as well…and by letting the flaws dominate his perception of the man…

_Well, fuck it all to hell. It's not as if I'm not entitled to hate the man, to be a bit unfair, given what has happened between us, given the circumstances…at least, within the confines of my own mind, in my own office…._

Wesley was broken out of his thoughts by the door of his office opening. Lindsey walked into the office and stood in front of Wesley's desk. The former watcher had long realized that Lindsey preferred to stand, rather than sit, when talking with him. And he was always careful to stay out of reach of Wesley's collapsible sword, when that was practical. Not that he was wearing the weapon right now. All of his staff seemed at least a little bit worried that he'd go completely psychotic on them, or at least decide that they needed killing. It was almost amusing.

"So, what's the issue then, Wes? What is Lilah up to?"

"Any number of nefarious plots and schemes to advance the power of Wolfram and Hart, I'm sure. But whatever she is planning really isn't relevant to why I called you here." His voice was cool as he leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers in front of him. But whatever she is planning really isn't relevant to why I called you here." His voice was cool as he leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers in front of him. "I'm much more interested in if you can tell me why Abigail is so unaccountably happy, why Spike hasn't bothered me since I got back here – or indeed, bothered anyone for over a day – and why the vaults are missing one hellmouth destroying Amulet."

Lindsey rolled his eyes and then looked pointedly at Wesley. "Because fuck you, that's why."

Wesley raised an eyebrow just as pointedly. "Perhaps you would care to elaborate on that explanation?"

"Not particularly, no." Lindsey shook his head, answering frankly. "In fact, if it's all the same to you, I really would rather not." Turning around, he walked towards, then opened, the door. However, before he could step through it, the door seemingly wrenched itself out of his hand and slammed shut. A moment passed then Lindsey heard a distinctive clicking sound as the door locked. He turned around to see Wesley's hand coming out from the underside of his desk, and realized what must have happened. "So what are you going to do to me now? Drop me through a trap door into a bit of scorpions?"

"No room for it in the budget, I'm afraid." Wesley replied.

**Lilah's Office, Wolfram and Hart Chicago**

**6:23 pm, June 26****th****, 2003**

Lilah pressed a button on the underside of her desk and watched with no small amusement as the lawyer who had been standing in front of her desk fell through it. She pressed the button before the screaming could start. She didn't want to hear _that_ kind of noise pollution.

"How did you find room in the budget to install a trap door in your office?" Denna asked from the doorway.

"Oh, I didn't 'find room'. Lilah replied. "It's been there since the construction of the offices. It just took me a while to decide what to put at the bottom of it. I believe the last CEO had Sharks. I decided that was too James Bond for my tastes."

"So Scorpions are a no-go too, then?"

Lilah laughed. "Of course."

"Then what do you have down there?" Denna raised an eyebrow.

"Hellwasps." Lilah replied. Denna smiled.

"Nasty." She added, by way of comment.

Lilah nodded. "Anyway, was there something you wanted to say?"

"Yes." Denna replied. "Faith is back in Cleveland, and she has the Amulet. I give it a week before Willow Rosenberg managed to figure out how to restore Spike to his proper, solid form. Wolfram and Hart Cleveland has gotten it into their head that they can turn Spike and make him be the vampire of the Shanshu prophecy. The vampire with a soul that runs the apocalypse for the Senior Partners."

Despite herself, Lilah laughed out loud, pulling herself up short before she threw her head back with the laugh. "Spike? Turn to our side? Now that he's got a soul? Have they even read his file?" William the Bloody was about as likely to turn to evil as Buffy Summers was, the way he followed the blonde Slayer around like a puppy back in Sunnydale. "Give me a copy of that memo. Wesley is sure to get a good laugh out of it, if nothing else. Assuming he doesn't kill people over Lindsey handing it over to Faith."

Then a brilliant thought occurred to her. It was entirely possible that the response from Wesley could be Lindsey getting fired. Without the protection of being an 'vassal' of 'Baron' Marcone, Lindsey's safety was no longer an issue, and she could arrange for his capture, torture and handing over to the Senior Partners at her leisure…that would be a nice feather in her cap, and not require much effort from her at all.

And now that Wesley was back in town, she could broach it with him when they got together tonight. Her apartment, this time.

She hated to admit it, but she had somewhat missed Wesley while he'd been out of town…almost. The sex was really, really good, after all. And no one in the building could match her wits like he could.

_Well, there's Graviskiyus down in Ritual Sacrifices, but he's a Coarvisan Demon, so he doesn't count._ She smirked wryly a little at her own self-rationalization.

"Ah yes, and Gregory of Arles called. He says he's found it. But he's also demanding that you give him 'what we talked about earlier' up front, rather than on delivery."

"Easily done." Lilah replied with a shrug. "Did he say why he was changing the deal?"

"I believe his exact words were 'Because fuck you, that's why'." Denna replied with a frown. He also added that 'I have it, and you're not exactly in a position to bargain, now are you?'"

"Tell him that he'll get it up front, but if he ever tries to extort me or the firm again, I'll have his dust decorating my desk in a jar." Her computer pinged with the sound of a new e-mail, and Lilah turned back to look at the screen, clicking the message open.

_Interesting… _What, she wondered, could make the heads of four seers at four different branches of the firm explode all at once, at the exact same moment? Something powerful, clearly…and something that was probably going end up being her problem.

Sometimes, she really did wonder if the Powers really were as powerful as they sometimes acted, and were having fun at her expense on a regular basis.

**Author's Note: **Yes, I know that Wesley's internal monologue/thoughts are kind of jumbled, and that it reads badly/disorganized. It's intentional. There is a reason for it. As time goes on, you'll start to see what that reason is.

As I said in the first chapter, I'm still taking requests for what you'd like to see more of – who you'd like to see more of, what you'd like to know about OC backgrounds or things like that. Which canon characters you want to see more, what kinds of situations you'd like to see them in, who you'd like to see them interact with, et cetera. I can't promise I'll write what you ask for, but I want to get an idea as to what my readers are looking for in this collection. I have long-term plot arcs I'll be interweaving throughout the piece and some more short stories and short story-arcs I can put in as we go forward, but like I said, I want to know what my readers want to see.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Absolutely not mine. End of story.

Tales From Oracle Securities

By Alkeni

Chapter 7: A Day In The Lilah

**Conference Room, Wolfram And Hart Chicago**

**12:11 pm, July 15****th****, 2003**

"There is still no indication as to what caused the seer's heads to explode. Fortunately, there have been no further incidents, but neither has any intelligence been developed as to the reason. If something major has happened in the lower realms, it is evading all of Wolfram and Hart's efforts to determine what it is. And something has appeared to spook the Senior Partners as well. Reports from all the offices on Earth and in the other dimensions that the White Rooms have all gone silent. The entire firm is flying blind."

"How can a being or event powerful enough to scare the Senior Partners and blow the tops off our seers - and its not as if we don't take precautions – stay under the radar this long? Power of that kind usually doesn't come with subtlety attached."

"That would be unclear." The same man answered Denna. "And who or whatever it is has left no trace in prophecy or mystic texts. This thing has somehow managed to happen or rise...or whatever, completely unnoticed."

"Not completely." Another lawyer interjected. "The Senior Council of the White Council seems to have figured out that something is up. They've locked themselves in their headquarters in Edinburgh and have been deliberating about something. Its extremely unlikely that whatever it is that has spooked them is different than whatever it is that has caused us so many problems."

"Is there any indication that the Watchers, or Angel and his band of merry men know about this?" Lilah asked, speaking for the first time all meeting.

"None." He shook his head, then double-checked his notes. "That's all I've got."

Lilah nodded. "What about the other offices? What is the news from them?"

"Well, the Los Angeles Branch has officially dropped from leading profitability to somewhere in the middle of the pack. Marcus Hamilton has ordered a complete review of the branch. The building has been locked down while he performs the review. I believe he said something about bowling in the last communication. There's not much else that's notable. The Cleveland offices experienced a drive-by-Molotov-cocktailing, of all things. The police have no suspects, but the Slayers have claimed credit for it in a phone call to the CEO of the branch."

"Oracle Securities? What are they up to now?" Denna asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the fact that Wyndam-Pryce just got on a plane for San Francisco this morning. And Faith Lehane took off for the same city from Cleveland last night."

"What the hell are they doing heading to San Francisco? What would be there to attract them?"

"I have no idea." The man answered Denna's question.

"Its obvious. Lucien Drake. Wesley has a connection to the man through Jacinta, and he has no doubt recruited Faith to help him take the man and his larger organization down." Lilah said, fingers steepled.

"Why Faith? All indications are that he hates her, and would kill her if doing so wouldn't unduly harm the cause, and bring the wrath of the Slayers down on him."

"Oh, he hates her. Its exactly why he'd bring her with him. She's expendable. Whatever Wesley has planned, the risk is high, and he'd clearly rather it be Faith that dies than one of his people." She looked at the other Lawyers. "What? You don't sleep with a man for months without getting a good look inside his head, how he thinks."

**Lilah's Office, Wolfram and Hart Chicago**

**1:07 pm, July 15****th****, 2003**

Lilah had just closed her email when the screen on her computer went completely white, with no trace of the desktop of her mouse.

_How much money do we pay for state of the art computers again?_ Muttering some creative curses in Old Traevosian, she picked up her phone and punched up the number for IT. After a few moments.

"IT main desk, how can I direct your-"

"This is Lilah Morgan, the CEO. Send someone up here to see to it that my computer-" Her computer suddenly flashed two words in large, bold black letters.

WHITE ROOM

Then the computer's screen returned to normal. "Actually, cancel that. It seems to be working again." She hung up the phone as she stood up. She didn't stop to grab anything as she headed for her personal elevator, quickly entering in the combination for the White Room, a well-practiced habit by this point.

"They spend weeks saying absolutely nothing, and now all they can do is tell me to go to the White Room? A little bit more information that that would be useful!" Lilah stepped out into the empty expanse of white as the doors opened. This time, she wasn't greeted by a white room generated clone of herself. This time, the conduit...was a far more literal conduit.

A swirling vortex of red energy, almost like a small – very small – whirlpool, floated horizontally four feet off the ground.

"Lilah Morgan, CEO of the Wolfram and Hart Chicago Branch. Former Head of Special Projects, Chicago Branch. Former Head of Special Projects, Los Angeles Branch. Former Co-Head of Special Projects, Los Angeles Branch. Former Team Member, Special Projects, Los Angeles Branch."

"Is there any reason you needed to go though my resume like that?" Lilah asked, once the voice emanating from the Vortex paused. "I assume that there _is_ a reason as to why the White Room is functioning again?"

"It will only remain functioning for a short time." The voice replied. "The Senior Partners have found some small amount of information about the incident. It is not something new, it is something old. Whatever it is will soon hollow out a form and occupy it. And there is name – not the name of the thing itself, but the name of someone related to the events directly. Cowl."

"Think you could whistle up a little more vague for me? That's nothing to work on. And Cowl isn't a name, its a type of clothing."

"There is no more to tell you. You will be alerted when more has been discovered. You will do all you can to discover more with the resources at your disposal. All Branch heads are being given this same information. In order to properly monitor and control the situation, we shall dispatch overseers to all branches."

"I _don't_ need a babysitter."

"Failure to accept and acknowledge the ultimate authority of the Child of the Senior Partners to be dispatched to your branch will result in the termination of the lacking party's contract and employment with the firm.

"Please." She scoffed. _Why not just say that they'll kill me? Save themselves a little bit of time._ Rolling her eyes, she nodded. "Fine. I accept the presence and authority off the Child in all matters relating to this incident."

"That was not what was said as to what you must do."

"True." Lilah admitted. "But if what you really intended was to have someone else run this branch in all aspects, you'd have simply killed me and gotten on with it." She looked directly at the vortex, wishing it had eyes so she would stare it down.

The vortex flickered a moment, then started to grow. Lilah stepped back a pace, to give it room as it turned into a portal large enough for a creature the size of a human to step through. A second later, such a creature did step through. Lilah took another step back, feeling genuine shock at what she saw.

The Child of the Senior Partners...it was like looking in a twisted, distorted mirror. It wasn't that it looked like her. That she would have been able to handle, having had experience with the Conduit deciding to look like her most of the time.

No. The Child looked like her...if her hair was dyed a reddish blonde, and if her eyes had been brilliant, almost glowing red.

"What the hell!?" Lilah demanded. For the first time in years, not only was she fazed, but also showing that reaction openly. Lilah looked over her 'clone' a moment, mind racing. Rather than the sharp, all-business pantsuit she was that she herself was wearing, her 'red-headed step-clone' wore a long, full-length black dress, sleeveless. It clung to all the right places to be sexy, but not overtly revealing. In addition, she wore elbow-length blood red gloves that looked molded on as a second layer of skin, so close fitting were they.

"Hello Lilah." The woman replied, cocking her head just slightly in a very familiar pose. Familiar because Lilah did that exact pose herself, fairly often. "I am Iris Vanderan."

"Better than mini-me." Lilah replied, managing to get herself under control. "So, you're the Child of the Senior Partners being assigned to me. I don't know if I should be flattered, angry or disturbed that they assigned me one that looks so much like me. Nice of them to do the hair and eyes though."

"I don't just look a lot like you, Lilah. I think a lot like you. You possess...insights and perspectives that have brought you this far in the firm. Clearly, you are doing something right, and the Senior Partners do not want to disturb that more than is absolutely necessary."

"The best way to do that would be to not have a babysitter. You do realize that, Junior?"

Iris nodded. "I would, in the abstract, have to agree. But I serve the Senior Partners, with a fidelity that you cannot match. In this matter, they want someone they can communicate with directly on the ground, directing their efforts."

"How can something even they can't seem to find that much information on terrify them that much?"

"The Senior Partners didn't survive all the way from their days in the Primordium Age as relative nonentities without developing a finely tuned sense of caution and self-preservation."

"Cowardice. This, I know." Lilah smirked.

"Essentially, yes, Cowardice. But stupid bravery gives no one any bonus points, as you are well aware."

"I wasn't condemning it." Lilah countered Iris's words. "Just pointing it out."

"The Senior Partners know that the winds are changing and that something is brewing. They don't want to be here when it all boils over, to mix my metaphors more than once. They don't have to be heavy on the details for their sense of self-preservation to kick in." Iris shrugged. "We go with what we have.

Lilah scoffed again. "Which is nothing." Lilah watched as Iris nodded in agreement, then the lawyer looked back towards the elevator entrance. "I suppose we return to the building now?"

"Indeed." Iris nodded. "The White Room will be once more closed off, as soon as we've taken our leave from it."

"And its going to be like this at all the offices? Even the ones in the deepest hell dimensions?"

"Even." Iris replied. "Like I said, caution and self-preservation." She stepped into the elevator before Lilah, holding the door open. The trip back to her office was over in seconds. Denna was waiting inside, a file folder in one hand, lightly tapping a pen against it. Her eyes widened and she looked from Lilah to Iris, then back again.

"Don't say anything." Lilah and Iris said in unison. Then they looked at eachother in annoyed askance.

"I wasn't planning on it." Denna protested cooly.

"Bullshit." Lilah replied. "Denna, this is Iris Vanderan, a Child of the Senior Partners and our new babysitter while we sort out whatever it was that blew the heads off our seers and has the Senior Partners cowering under their beds like three-year-old children. Iris, this is Denna Frost, Head of Special Projects here at Wolfram and Hart Chicago."

"I know." Iris replied. "I've read her file."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series and the Dresden Files are all owned by their respective copyright owners. None of whom are me.

Tales from Oracle Securities

By Alkeni

Chapter 8: The Lucien Files I

**San Francisco International Airport**

**12:07 pm, July 15****th****, 2003**

Wesley found Faith right where he expected her, just outside the main building of the airport, smoking a cigarette. Wesley approached her, and Faith turned towards the sound of his footsteps. She took a long drag on her cigarette. "Wesley."

"Faith." Wesley nodded.

Crushing the remainder of the coffin nail underneath the heel of her boot, Faith looked directly at her one-time-Watcher. "So what's the big evil that's going down here? So bad you needed to call in a Slayer. Kind of got the impression that you didn't want much of anything to do with me. Or any of the Slayers, or this 'New Watchers Council' thing in general, either." She rolled her eyes. "they still haven't figured out a new name. I think Xander's vote was for 'The Justice League'"

"I believe DC Comics would have something to say about that choice of name." Wesley remarked dryly. "And yes, in a perfect world, you and I would never have to come into contact again, under any circumstances. Unfortunately, we do not live in a perfect world, as evidence by this." He gestured between the both of them.

"Like I've said before Wes, you really do know how to make a girl feel appreciated."

"Wesley just drawled in response. "If you need me to make you feel appreciated, then you problems are rather far-gone and insurmountable, no?"

"I _can_ just get back into the airport, get on a plane and fly back. It was your money that brought me out here. I'm not in any mood for your budding psychopath games, so why am I here?"

"Rather rich to call someone else a psychopath, Faith, no?" Wesley pointed out cooly.

"Recovering psychopath here, actually." She said with a smirk. "I'd give you some tips on how to get better, but frankly, you're hotter when you're a bit crazy."

"I don't know if I should be offended or not." Wesley cocked his head, as it to consider the answer. "As for why you're here, we don't live in a perfect world. Consequently, I find myself in need of you and your skills."

"Why not bring some of your people from Chicago with you. Why me in particular?"

"Because as useful as my people are, you are much better in a fight than any one of them and neither of us will be able to bring in any weapons where we're going."

"I'm already not liking the sound of this. What's the details?"

"A man named Lucien Drake leads a cult of around a thousand. Most of them are scattered along the West Coast in small groups of ten to twenty, but there's a core of two hundred and fifty living in a compound not far from San Francisco. Normally, a cult wouldn't be my problem. Most of them are harmless, supernaturally speaking. Unfortunately, these ones are. They're stockpiling black magics and the way they're getting them is particularly objectionable to anyone." He paused, as if for dramatic effect. "He's murdering the babies of his cultists, and whatever infants he can arrange to be stolen. Sacrifices to a number of powerful demons in exchange for power."

"But neither of us can bring weapons when we take down this sick bastard? How is that going down? What's the plan?"

"We walk right into his compound."

"Okay. Stupid plan. High on the suicide. What am I missing?"

"I have an appointment. Apparently, he owes me a favor."

"How to you make a baby-murdering cult leader owe you a favor?"

"When you kill his sister, who is trying to raise an ancient demon lord specifically gain the power she needs to kill him. Its complicated. Apparently, he found out I was responsible for Jacinta's death. Gave me a perfect opening. He wants to thank me. Personally."

"Okay, so we walk in, unarmed, and have a chat. Then what? If this guy's human, I'm not killing him. Beat the crap out of him, sure. Break some bones, definitely. But I will _never_, _ever_ kill a human again."

"I light the room on fire on the way out." Wesley explained. "Can't kill him directly – I don't want the Wardens on my ass – but technically, if I do it right, lighting the room on fire while he's unconscious and immobilized from what someone else did to him...its pedantry of the highest order -"

"And right out of Wolfram and Hart's playbook." Faith point out.

"Lilah may have rubbed off on me, I suppose?"

"Lilah? The one who tried to hire me to kill Angel?"

"Did. And yes. Oh, did I mention? Lilah and I are lovers." Wesley smirked. "Too strong a word, really. What is the term...fuck buddies?"

"You're sleeping with the enemy?"

"Pretty much." Wesley admitted. "Neither of us would hesitate to stab the other in their sleep if we felt the need...but until then, who says we can't enjoy ourselves?"

Faith looked at him, blinked once, then just shook her head. Wesley had come a long way from what he'd been, in just a few years. From completely useless idiot to...

Well, a hot, probably psycho guy. With a kill count, of humans, higher than hers, almost certainly.

_Now if only he'd been this hot when he first showed up in Sunnydale..._ She laughed a little internally, then shrugged. "What the hell. Its your swiss-cheese plan. If it gets me killed, I'll haunt you until you die."

"And if we both die?"

"Then my ghost will slay your ghost's ass." Faith replied. "So, when is the meeting."

"Tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, we have a hotel penthouse for the night." Wesley rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. I got it so it could be warded against attack. Penthouses have at least something of a threshold, and it will be easier to ward the penthouse than it would be to ward two separate hotel rooms. We'll have plenty of room to stay away from eachother."

**Next Time, on Tales From Oracle Securities: **_Faith may be out of Cleveland and Wesley out of Chicago, but it doesn't mean things are going to stay quiet while they're gone. The grisly murder of a witness pulls Harry Dresden, Karrin Murphy, Mark Farrel and Abigail St. Pierre into the same case, and Wolfram and Hart won't be giving this one up without a fight._


End file.
